


Song of the Knife

by Camiiilllee



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-17 06:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12359667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camiiilllee/pseuds/Camiiilllee
Summary: How can Vienna's most influential and famous musician can end up so miserable? How can such a brilliant mind become a man's own worst enemy? An unexpected encounter might give Salieri the answer...The story of MOR from Salieri's point of view.





	1. Prologue

**Paris, 1763**

 

She fell on the pavement, exhausted. The day was just beginning to rise, but the streets of Paris were still deserted. A few more steps separated her from the tiny dark, damp room where she would find her brother and mother, but her legs refused to carry her any longer. How did she find herself dancing a whole night for disgusting customers too drunk to realize that the girl they were clumsily trying to touch and caress was only 12 years old? The answer, Adelina preferred not to think about it. Folding the dirty skirt of her dress on her legs to protect them from the cold, she put her head in the hollow of her right arm as she clenched her left arm against her trembling chest.

“What are you doing?”

The sharp voice had arisen from the darkness as a lightning illuminates the sky. Adelina jumped to her hands despite her exhaustion. In front of her was standing a little boy, six or seven years old at the most, staring at her through his wide black eyes, almost entirely covered by his thick blond hair.

“I’m counting the paving stones” Adelina grumbled, too tired to soften her tone before the adorable child. The latter began to giggle.

“You can’t count them all!” he shot back laughing. “Not if you stay laying there anyway.” He added, a glimpse of wickedness sparkling in his eyes.

Adelina let out a sigh.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart” the child proudly recited with his hands behind his back.

“Um… alright, Wolgang,” the teenager responded, repeating the only name she could kind of make out from the litany of words coming out the kid’s mouth. “Where are your parents?”

“My name is not Wolfgang!” he laughed again, ignoring her question. “And you, what’s your name?”

“Adelina.”

“Alina” the child repeated, a thick accent keeping him from pronouncing her name correctly.

“That’s right, Alina,” the young girl sighed, quickly running out of patience. “Where are your parents?” she asked again.

“I don’t know.” the child replied, skipping from one leg to another.

Suddenly the quays of the Seine caught his eyes and he rushed in their direction.

“Wait!” Adelina shouted, awkwardly getting back on her feet and going after the damned toddler.

“Stop” she breathed out, grabbing the kid’s arm. “You could fall in the river.”

Suddenly another voice came up behind them, followed by footsteps. A small group of three barged into the street. A couple rushed to Wolfgang and pulled him into a tight hug, shoving Adelina.

“Where have you been?” the mother of the child said in a sob.

“I was with Alina,” the child replied, pointing at the teenager. “She wouldn’t let me play in the river.” He added with a pout.

Before Adelina could say anything, the father of the child got up and bowed in front of her.

“Alina, the Mozart will forever be grateful to you,” he said in a deep voice.

Following his words, a little girl -looking like she was the same age as Adelina- came closer to her in her pretty pink dress and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Thank you for looking out for my brother,” she said with a soft voice.

Without further ado, the Mozart walked away and the street fell silent again. Adelina sat back down, amazed. She played the scene in her head several times, and an unexpected conclusion came to her. Adelina's life had not been easy so far. Maybe Alina's would be better?


	2. Pretences

**Vienna, 1774**

 

Antonio Salieri enjoyed being alone. And yet he never really was. In his mind there was often an unhealthy presence, a poisoned voice that whispered in his ear and woke him up at night, a supernatural being woven into the very heart of his soul. His mind, his own enemy. Thus, when this voice would barge in and begin to become too intrusive, too real, he would go to Vienna's disreputable taverns, where he always found something to drink to drown that damned voice. The screaming of other clients helped him as well, creating a continuous noise bubble around him, intoxicating him as much as the alcohol in his glass. In Vienna, even the very poor knew Salieri. _Maestro_ Salieri. At only twenty-four, the prodigious musician of the Court was making a name for himself. And even with two bottles of wine in them, people had the presence of mind to move away from his path and to bow as he passed. He was respected and his reputation as a dark loner was enough to even scare most people away. Not to mention the threatening aura he was giving off with his black sparkling clothes, his raven beard, his hair falling into his equally dark eyes smeared with charcoal black make up, his straight posture and his feline gait. So Salieri would come back, drink and sometimes even compose in these dark and damp establishments where the noise and alcohol made him forget the eternal dissatisfaction which his work procured him.

Yet that day, an old drunk had decided that he was cleverer than the others. He had approached Salieri who was opening his third bottle of wine, already struggling to keep his head upright. As the young man had finally given up trying and had heavily dropped his head on his arm, the drunkard had seized his chance and had gently grabbed the long black coat left nonchalantly on the seat next to the one occupied by the musician. Very pleased with himself, the drunkard shook the jacket and was delighted at the sound of the clattering gold coins.

“That coat doesn’t belong to you.” a sharp voice said behind him.

The old man turned around and glared at his new interlocutor. It was a young man dressed in a large brick-coloured pants covered with mud and an old shirt that was too large for him. A large brown hat covered his head.

"What do you want, boy?" the old man grumbled, breathing his putrid breath into the young man's face.

“I want you to return his coat to my client.”

“He doesn’t seem to miss it” the drunkard chuckled, pointing at Salieri’s motionless body lying on the table behind him.

“Last warning. Give it back.”

The old man, who, despite his age as advanced as his drunkenness, seemed much stronger than his opponent, threw the jacket on the dusty ground and approached the young man until their foreheads touched.

“You’re pissing me off, kid.”

Without a warning, he grabbed the young man by his shirt and sent him flying on the table where Salieri was resting, which finally pulled him out of his semi-coma with a jolt. Furious, the other quickly got back on his feet, nimbly jumped over the table and ran head down on his opponent, who went crashing against the bar as he let out a painful "ouff". As he was about to get back up, the young man grabbed a bottle of full wine and crushed it against the drunken man's skull. The noise of broken glass set a heavy silence in the tavern, punctuated by the groans of the vanquished drowning in wine.

“Cheers,” the young man breathed out.

His reply triggered hysterical applause in the room. The other drunkards had obviously enjoyed the show. Stunned, Salieri had watched the scene without being able to move. Still sitting in his seat, he watched as the young man picked up his coat, dusted it carefully and put the crumpled sheets that had fallen off back in the pockets before handing it to him.

“Your coat, Maestro,” he said with a bow.

Salieri squinted at the young man, his sight still a little wobbly from the alcohol. The young man’s features seemed very delicate, and his voice was exaggeratedly gruff, as if he was trying to sound tougher than he was.

“Thank you,” he mumbled as he grabbed his jacket. “You’re bleeding,” he added, pointing at the thick red liquid dripping from his saviour’s lip.

The latter wiped the blood with the back of his sleeve and turned away quickly, fleeing Salieri's gaze.

"Wait," said the latter, but the young man had already disappeared in the back room.

 

**…**

 

If there was one thing that Alina loved when she disguised herself as a man, it was wearing trousers. The fabric embraced her shapes without hindering her moves, she could run, jump and bend freely, without having pounds and pounds of fabric to drag. It was, at the moment, the only advantage she could find in her situation. She had been in Vienna for several months now, and life was even harder than in Paris, which she thought was impossible. She mastered the language but very little understood her accent and she shared a room with a couple and their four children who woke her up at night.

Yet God knows she needed sleep; she worked all afternoon in a bakery where she would spend hours baking hundreds of loaves every day using a heavy tray and working in the heat of the oven without ever stopping. Then when the evening would come, she would go to a little tavern in the suburbs where she would serve drunkards until late at night. After a short sleep she’d go back to work at the tavern, only to stop late in the morning to nibble a piece of bread, and her day would begin again. In addition to the physical difficulties of her work, she had added another problem: having to pass for a man. Otherwise, it would have been impossible for her to find a respectable work, and she didn’t have the strength to go back to dancing and be fiddled by repugnant men.

So every morning waking up, Alina would put on a large shirt over her corset to camouflage her chest, trousers wide enough to hide her shapes, brown leather boots, and tied her long hair with a ribbon, then squeezed a large hat on her head to hide her bun. The deception had been working for several months. But today, fate had decided that the farce had to come to an end.

After her confrontation with that old imbecile, Alina had taken refuge in the kitchens, lest Salieri should realise that she was not a man. The musician had stared at her long enough to discover the truth. Fortunately, she had been able to slip away in time. _Me and my stupid integrity_ , she berated herself, rubbing the back of her skull, extremely painful after the shock inflicted by her opponent. Grumbling, she had continued her work all morning, making sure not to have to go back to the main room, perfectly knowing that Salieri could sometimes spend a whole morning in the tavern, staying still for hours, gazing in the distance, hand clenched around his glass still full. Despite her own desperate situation, the young woman sometimes pitied him. A deep sorrow was drowning in his charcoal gaze. What could torture a talented and appreciated musician so much that he needed to come and get drunk in a miserable tavern? The question bothered Alina all morning, until a clock in the distance finally rang noon. At last, she allowed herself to sit on a small uncomfortable stool, and pulled off her hat so that she could massage the back of her skull, still painful. With a sigh, she stood up and turned only to face her employer. The fat man with red skin, still wearing an apron, even if he had never touched a pot of his life, stared at her, then glared at the imposing blond bun on top of her head.

“What is the meaning of this?” the huge man roared.

“Mister Eberhard, I can expla-“

But her employer did not give her time to finish her sentence. His cheeks turning scarlet, he grabbed her arm and dragged her out.

 

**…**

 

Salieri had just spent the morning sitting on the same seedy seat. He let the information sink in his brain, and for the umpteenth time in the morning cursed himself for being so weak. Weak in front of the work that awaited him, weak in the face of the expectations of this world, and especially weak in the face of this damned voice that was making him go mad. After the agitated intervention of the waiter who had fought to give him his jacket back, the musician had finally sat back down, deciding that it was too early to face the false airs and the little manners of the people of the Court, who he hated deeply, even though he was one of them. When noon rang, he had finally made up his mind and was going to pay for his drinks when a din was heard towards the kitchens. From the massive wooden door sprang an obese man in an apron -Salieri thought he recognized the owner of the place, whom he knew very little,- who was dragging behind him the young man who had come to his rescue earlier in the morning. _Wait, is that…?_

Salieri straightened up, certain that his eyes were playing tricks on him. The young man had taken off his hat, and on the top of his head was a huge bun from which blond curly locks escaped. Intrigued, Salieri grabbed his jacket and mingled with the small group of clients who followed the couple of protagonists, already outside. There, in plain view, the owner threw his victim to the ground and snatched her shirt, revealing a simple white corset, causing the curious crowd to let out an " _Oh!_ " of surprise. Eberhard then proceeded to undo the ribbon which held the girl's hair, causing her to cry in pain as he pulled away some strands of her hair with violence.

“Don’t you dare show your face around here again!” he screamed at her face, livid with rage. “A women in my establishment…” he kept fuming, so furious that he couldn’t finish his sentence.

"Mister Eberhard, I beg of you," said the girl clutching the trousers of her ex-employer, "I need this work, and I've always done it well! I've never been late, you've never had to complain about me ...”

Eberhard pulled away with a kick that sent the girl back into the dust. He raised his enormous hand above him.

“I should-“

“Mister Eberhard,” Salieri interrupted him with his silky voice.

The fat fellow immediately suspended his gesture.

"Maestro Salieri," Eberhard said immediately, bowing as much as his imposing belly allowed him. “I'm sorry you had to see that, I-“

“You can go now,” Salieri cut him off, vaguely waving his hand towards the owner.

“But Maestro…”

The young man peered at him with such intensity that Eberhard closed him mouth with a loud ‘ _clack’_ of his teeth clattering. Glancing at the young woman on the ground one last time, he turned around without a word and got back inside. As the crowd was starting to scatter, Salieri rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt and silently reached out his hand to his morning saviour as the latter was trying to sit up, coughing until her lungs started burning. Suspicious, she eventually grabbed his hand and got back on her feet. As the musician calmly observed the young woman, she leant in to pick up her ribbon and put it back in her dusty hair, ignoring the snickering of the few people left around her. Receptive to the woman’s distress despite the look of defiance on her face, Salieri walked over to her again and covered her naked shoulders with his heavy coat. She threw an inquiring look at him, but did not protest.

“I owe you that much,” he explained, answering her look. “Please, follow me. I will find you something to change.”

Alina blinked a couple times. She was covered in mud and blood, and had just gotten invited into one of Vienna’s most famous musician’s home.


	3. Reborn

Astonished and left on her own, Alina was silently wandering around the musician’s living room. The latter had gone upstairs without a word of explanation after taking his jacket back. She didn’t know what to set her eyes on. The room itself must have been at least four times bigger than the tiny bedroom she used to share with her brother and mother. Finely carved woodwork was climbing up to a high brilliant white ceiling. The high windows were allowing the silver light of the winter day to shine in, making the red fabric of the elegant armchairs sparkle. Eventually, her stunned gaze rested on a magnificent piano-forte of a sparkling chestnut marbled with an almost ebony brown. Moved, she gently touched the instrument as if she was saluting it, following the delicate veins of the wood with the tip of her fingers. Throwing an anxious look behind her to make sure that Salieri was not back, she cautiously sat on the white fabric of the seat which was comfortably padded. She let the pulp of her fingers stroll along the ivory keys. Feeling her pulse accelerate, she suddenly pressed a C. The pure, crystalline sound flew away, reverberating on the walls, wrapping itself around the sculptures and gilding, passing through her whole body as quickly and violently as an electric shock. Shaken, she remained still for a moment, until a voice behind her startled her.

“Do you play?” Salieri whispered with his silk voice.

Her jolt had thrown her out of the seat. She was now facing him, her cheeks red and her hands clenched in front of her.

“Forgive me,” she murmured back. “I didn’t mean to…”

The Maestro interrupted her by motioning toward the instrument, inviting her to sit back down. Reluctant, the young woman defiantly stared at Salieri without moving an inch.

“Everything I say and do is not meant to trip you up,” he added with a touch of craftiness mixed with irritation in his charcoal gaze. “Please. Show me.”

With her stare still on the young man, Alina cautiously sat down on the edge of the seat, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. She had never played for anyone other than a family member, or a client of hers that was too drunk to even listen to what she was playing anyway. She felt Salieri’s stare on her back like the burning tip of a knife blade. Shaking, she put her fingers back on the keyboard. She started playing softly, but a first false note slipped into the melody almost immediately, abruptly interrupting the young woman. In the corner of her eye, she could see Salieri slowly crossing his arms in front of him. Miffed and ashamed, she let out a trembling sigh and inwardly called on numerous curses. Suddenly, the image of her father jumped into her mind, his reassuring calm and his sweet smile, his wide yet agile hands on the keyboard guiding hers to teach her to play. She closed her eyes, repressing the tears that were threatening to escape. She pictured the little house her and her family used to live in, a lifetime ago it seemed. The smell of burning wood crackling in the fireplace, her mother softly singing as she stirred a turnip soup with one hand and cradled her little brother, still an infant, in the other. Without opening her eyes, she realised that her hands had begun to move on their own, playing one of the melodies her father had taught her when she was only seven years old. A score he had written for her while her mother was about to give birth to her brother. _Wunder_. Miracle in German. When she gently finished the melody, she had almost forgotten about Salieri still standing behind her. She discreetly sniffled and wiped the line left by the warm tear that had finally escaped from her closed eyelids only to crash down on her thigh.

“You are very talented,” Salieri softly said after a few seconds of heavy silence.

Alina let out a weary laughter.

“Do not patronise me. My talent is, at best, the shadow of yours.”

“Did you write this score?” he went on, ignoring her comment.

The girl shook her head.

“My father composed it for me when I was little.”

“He must be very fond of you.”

The sudden pain in his voice made her tick, and forced her to finally face him. Overwhelmed by the sharp pain the memory of her father had caused in her chest, she simply nodded while getting back on her feet. She slowly dusted her dirty trousers, at loss to know what to do. Alerted by her gesture, Salieri cleared his throat and blinked a couple times as if he had just woken up with a jolt. He stretched his arm towards the set of stairs Alina could see through the open door.

“Misses Friedmann ran a bath for you upstairs, and found you some clothes to change.”

“Misses Friedmann?”

“My governess.” Salieri replied as an old woman was calmly going down the stairs. Her silvery hair was raised in a bun, from which were falling a few wicks, framing her soft yet craggy round face, illuminated by two eyes of a very pale blue. The housekeeper insistently looked at Alina before gently smiling at her.

“Misses Friedmann, please do take care of our guest. She will be joining me for supper tonight.”

“Miss, please follow me,” the governess said with a tremulous voice after answering to Salieri with a bow.

Alina did so without a word, suddenly realising how rich her host was. Never in her life had she met someone this young being able to afford a governess. She followed the old lady in a bathroom where the salmon pink curtains were exalting a relaxing and warm ambiance. Without preamble, Ms. Friedmann stripped Alina of her muddy clothes with a surprising strength considering her age before throwing them in the laundry hamper. Alina found herself buck naked in the middle of the cosy little room, her arms wrapped around her to keep her warm. She wasn’t feeling prudish, especially in front of the old governess, but Lord were those tiles cold!

“Come now” the governess said while pushing her toward the bath, “hurry in or you’ll catch a cold.”

Without thinking about it twice, Alina slipped into the bath one leg after the other and sighed in relief once she could sit and let the steaming water reach her chin. The old Friedmann then started to undo the ribbon in Alina’s blond hair. The young girl had to keep herself from giggling when she heard her cursing and ranting while struggling with her hair all tangled up by dirt. When she was finally done, she let out a long sigh and sat next to Alina.

“Not only is he disappearing all night without a sign of life, but now he is also letting complete strangers into his home.”

The old woman stopped talking then let her stare go from Alina’s face to the smooth curves of her body without embarrassment.

“Although now that you got rid of all this dirt, I am starting to see what Mister Salieri saw in you.” She added with a sly smile.

Alina drew an embarrassed grimace on her face.

“I did not mean to bother him. I let the idea of getting away from the cold for a few moments get the best of me. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of the Maestro’s generosity. It was selfish of me.”

Misses Friedmann’s eyes narrowed and a smile added a few wrinkles to the corner of her brilliant eyes.

“There there my child, don’t be so harsh on yourself. It is the first time I see Mister Salieri let anyone in this house, you must be worth it.”

She stopped talking for a second and leaned towards the young girl.

“But if you do anything to break that trust” she added with a lower voice, “you’ll have to answer to me. I raised Mister Salieri like my own child, and I will not let anyone take advantage of him. Am I being clear?”

“Very.” Alina yelped.

“Good.” She replied, her kind smile back so fast that Alina was wondering if she had dreamt the last ten seconds. “Then let’s get you dressed, or Mister Salieri will be waiting on us”

Alina reluctantly got out of the bath. Once out of the water, she couldn’t hold out a loud sigh of relief from feeling clean after what seemed like an eternity. Still full of energy, Misses Friedmann made her put on a white petticoat and corset, pulling the laces so tight that Alina could barely breathe. On top of that, she put on a gorgeous light pink dress mingled with sparkling gold. Her sleeves were wrapping her thin arms before opening on her elbows in a puffing white lace. The square neckline was showing off her cleavage and her long and delicate neck. The stomacher was richly ornamented, and Alina felt like she was wearing an entire jewellery on her body. To finish, a large and heavy skirt was gracefully falling to the ground, hiding her white heels. The governess had spent long minutes curling her hair into a high and sophisticated bun from which a few blond strands were escaping to frame Alina’s face.

Once she was done, Misses Friedmann took a step back, put her fists on her waist and looked at Alina as the artist contemplates her work.

“You are ready."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, I hope you will enjoy this story! Please know that English is not my first language, and that I originally wrote this story in French. Do tell me if you find horrible mistakes (and you will)!  
> I tried to stay as close as I could to the real story of Salieri (especially stick to the dates), but I obivously had to step away from what really happened as I introduced my original characters in the story.  
> Enjoy!


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